r a fierce fillip on the nose, and she had to swallow her
tears and play on. Barty was almost wild with angry pity, but
dissembled, for fear of making her worse enemies in her father and
stepmother.

Not that the poor little thing played badly; indeed, she played
surprisingly well for her age, and Barty was sincere in his warm
commendation of her talent.

"Et vous ne cantez pas du tout--du tout?" said Veronese.

"Oh, si, quelquefois!"

"Cantez couelquecoze--ze vous accompagnerai sous la guitare!--n'ayez
pas paoure--nous sommes indoulgents, elle et moi--"

"Oh--je m'accompagnerai bien moi-meme comme je pourrai--" said
Barty, and took the guitar, and sang a little French Tyrolienne
called "Fleur des Alpes," which he could always sing quite
beautifully; and the effect was droll indeed.

Marianina wept; the signore went down on his knees in a theatrical
manner to him, and called him "maestro" and other big Italian names;
the Frau signora, with tears in her eyes, asked permission to kiss
his hand, which his modesty refused--he kissed hers instead.

"He was a great genius, a bird of God, who had amused himself by
making fools of poor, innocent, humble, wandering minstrels. Oh,
would he not be generous as he was great and be one of them for a
few days, and take half the profits--more--whatever he liked?" etc.

[Illustration: "THE CARNIVAL OF VENICE"]

And indeed they immediately saw the business side of the question, and
were, to do them justice, immensely liberal in their conditions of
partnership--and also most distressingly persistent, with adulations
that got more and more fulsome the more he held back.

There was a long discussion. Barty had to be quite brutal at the
end--told them he was not a musician, but a painter, and that
nothing on earth should induce him to join them in their concert.

And finally, much crestfallen and somewhat huffed, the pair went out
to post their placards all over the town, and Barty went for a bath
and a long walk--suddenly feeling sad again and horribly one-eyed
and maimed, and more wofully northless and homeless and friendless
than ever.

Blankenberghe was already very full, and when he got back he saw the
famous placards everywhere. And found his friends cooking their
dinner, and was pressed to join them; and did so--producing a
magnificent pasty and some hot-house grapes and two bottles of wine
as a peace-offering--and was forgiven.

And after dinner they all sat on grain